


Deck the Halls

by itsybitsyish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Decorating, Erotica, Gay, Holidays, Homoerotica, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, One-Shot, PWP, Seasonal, Sex, Short, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsyish/pseuds/itsybitsyish
Summary: John rather enjoys the holidays, and tonight he and Sherlock (who isn't such a fan of Christmas) will be splashing the seasonal bits and bobs around 221 B.Well, until Sherlock finds a wonderfully naughty way of distracting John from it in order to get himself a break from decking the halls!





	

Christmas.  
It was a time of celebration; the colourful glowing of faerie lights strung on all manner of things, the twinkling of tinsel ropes and a massive variety of ornamentation, laughter and joy coming to people much easier than at any other time of the year.  
Despite such bedazzling splendour bedecking the city of London, Sherlock remained more or less untouched by it all.  
Before John had suddenly been swept into his life, Sherlock hadn't lived in a place where there were holiday decorations every year. Or, at least, not since moving out of his parents' home.  
It wasn't that he didn't celebrate at all, only that he saw no reason to clutter his surroundings with such frivolity.  
But, now that he and John lived together, and especially after they had each acknowledged the indisputable love which had bloomed betwixt them, the Christmas season had meant more than it had before.  
More because of how John would become jollier; he would contentedly hum Christmas tunes, wear ridiculous themed sweaters (Sherlock particularly detested John's burgundy monstrosity which bore what he'd been told was a snowman eating a piece of pie), drink hot cocoa with a single over-sized marshmallow melting in the cup, and best of all John would find any excuse to cuddle up to him.  
The rest of what the holiday season brought meant little to him, but John's brilliant love of all things Christmas made it all worth it.  
And, with it being the seventh day of December, once Sherlock got home from the morgue they would bring their collection of seasonal items out of storage and putting them up.

'You seem rather chipper this evening.' Molly remarked, watching as Sherlock peered up his subject's swollen and discoloured nose.  
He had noticed a barely visible hint of white far up the deceased's right nostril during his exploration of the nasal cavities.  
Sherlock hmm'd, picking up a pair of fine tweezers and carefully grabbing hold of the mysterious thing, pulling it slowly.  
He felt a bit of slight resistance, and adjusted the angle from which he'd been extracting the item.  
Soon, a thin white thread started to emerge.  
Sherlock had spent nearly a minute and a half removing the thread, revealing three feet of it before decidind to put the end bit on a slide to peer at beneath the microscope while it remained attached to the body.  
'Is that...'  
'Dental floss.' Sherlock stated quietly, scrutinising the fibres. 'Nylon and teflon blend; the decitex is unusual, and it's thinner than most brands found here in the U.K.. Quite possibly a Canadian brand.'   
Molly raised a brow. 'That's a new one for me.'  
Sherlock raised his eyes from the floss, looking back to its source.  
He took a scalpel from the silver tray and poised his gloved hand just above the outside of the right nostril, pressing down and slicing into the skin.  
Sherlock made a deep two and a half inch incision.  
He picked up a pair of small forceps and spread the cut open, revealing an entire spool of floss which had been placed there by the murderer.  
Sherlock removed the spool, laying it on the tray.  
'What does it mean?' Molly asked in a baffled tone, and Sherlock looked into her eyes.  
'No idea.' He admitted.

 

There hadn't been much of anything else to discover with the body, having already scoured it, and Sherlock had left the morgue shortly after removing the floss.  
He'd cleaned up, bid Molly goodnight, and had begun his walk home in the chilled night air.  
Sherlock had wandered along the pavements, the couples standing out to him; many of them were openly affectionate, and he felt a pang.  
He knew how much John wanted to be publicly romantic. To not have to hide what they had together. To have that freedom.  
But, Sherlock wasn't comfortable with that.  
It wasn't as if he particularly cared what other people thought.  
It was more that he feared what might happen as a result of such open same-sex love; Sherlock knew that John was at risk simply for knowing him, and the last thing he wanted was to put John at more risk.  
There were too many violent homophobes and religious fanatics that struck out against anyone who wasn't straight and dared to show it.  
He couldn't protect John every moment of every day...

Sherlock opened the flat door to have the warm, thick aroma of freshly baked brownies hit him pleasantly.  
Sherlock heard the clear sound of 'Carol of the Bells' being played on the piano which he'd given John as a birthday gift last year, the one which John would play as an accompaniment to his violin.  
He made his way into the den, mentally recording the view with a tender smile on his lips, the sight of John utterly lost in the music leaving him breathless.  
To most people, John was merely an average and ordinary man.  
But, to Sherlock, John was a stunner.  
He listened as John went through the song, making no mistakes as his fingers danced along the smooth black and white keys.  
The sharp click of the keys hitting the oak gave Sherlock goosebumps.  
Sherlock couldn't help himself. He crept stealthily over, leaning down and pressing his lips against the side of John's neck.  
John jumped, mashing the keys less then melodically, before giggling in relief.  
He leaned against Sherlock, who moved his lips to John's.

'Play for me.' Sherlock said against John's mouth, feeling him smile. 'Play our song.'  
John pressed their lips together once more before turning his attention to the piano, launching into the first song that they'd played together - 'Ave Maria'.  
Sherlock sat next to John on the bench, relishing the warmth radiating off of his love and the sensation of the music flowing throughout his body.  
Music had always been a source of joy, and Sherlock took particular enjoyment in any that John played.  
The notes cascaded through the air, filling it with their beauty and charm.  
As the music swelled, Sherlock closed his eyes in delight.  
John looked over, adoring the sight of Sherlock's blissful contentment.  
Before long, the song was over.  
Sherlock let out a satisfied sigh, and stood.  
'I see you've been busy.' He remarked, looking over to the two towers of boxes.  
John beamed. 'What'd'you want to do first?'  
Sherlock raised a brow, giving John a once over.  
John playfully rolled his eyes. 'How about the ceiling lights?'  
Sherlock gave a nod.  
Whatever John wanted was fine by him.  
'I'll get the step-stool.' John said, getting up.  
Sherlock looked annoyed. 'You know I despise that thing; besides, the coffee table holds my weight well enough.'  
'Ha!' John burst out in sarcasm, crossing his arms. 'We don't need a repeat of what happened with the new year's decorations in 2014.'  
Sherlock sighed. 'Statisically, it's entirely unlikely that'll happen again.'  
John still didn't look agreeable to Sherlock's abuse of the furniture.  
'Fine, but if you break bones again this time, I won't even buy another coffee table for you to stand on.' John decided.  
Sherlock still maintained that it had been the fault of the manufacturer that the table leg had broken off and not his so-called 'misuse' of the furniture which had lead to his falling and breaking both an ankle and two toes.

'I'll be fine, John.' He promised.  
'Yeah, you'd better be.' John replied, setting a box on the floor and opening it. 'Ah, the manger scene.'  
Sherlock cleared the mantle, and they arranged the wisemen, the animals, Mary and Joseph, and of course little baby Jesus.  
Then, they worked together throughout the flat to put the tinsel along the walls and the many small shimmery snowflakes on the ceiling.  
Sherlock opened the box with the tree and cocked a brow. 'We ought to have retired this monstrosity last year.'  
John pulled a face. 'There's nothing wrong with that tree... It's just well-loved, that's all.'  
Sherlock couldn't help but smile softly as he glanced from the molting tree to see John pouting like a petulant child.  
'It certainly is.' Sherlock agreed, bending down and taking a middle piece from the cardboard box, John picking out the bottom bit and putting the legs on the stand.  
By the time the tree was asembled, the floorboards were covered in a fine layer of plastic needles.  
John cleared his throat, unable to ignore the mess.  
He went and got the dust pan and broom, quickly sweeping it up before washing his hands and opening up another box.  
This one had the more fragile ornaments; handblown glass baubles from the sixties, porcelain snowmen and angels, and all manner of colourful bits and bobs to delight and amuse.  
John's eyes glittered as he reached in and took out his favourite Christmas item which had been carefully wrapped in orange tissue paper - a delicate wooden star to top the tree.  
Sherlock rather liked the star, with its simplicity and sheer coat of golden paint which lent a warmth to the piece.  
Mrs. Hudson had given it to them their first Christmas together, something she'd made herself at a crafting class to keep busy.  
'How far along in your Christmas shopping?' John asked, setting the star on the coffee table and choosing a small green ball.  
'I've yet to commence that task.' Sherlock replied, preferring a different topic.  
John always shopped early. Incredibly early.  
Most years, he was done all of his holiday gift shopping each boxing day.  
Sherlock on the other hand put it off, despising the drudgery of shopping.  
Besides, it wasn't as if anyone he knew actually needed all that much, if anything; Christmas had become centered around accumulating even more material items.  
And, that lead to people throwing away perfectly decent items.   
The least they could do was donate them so that the less fortunate could benefit.

 

It had been two hours later, and they were still going at it; Sherlock was tired and frustrated, while John didn't seem to realise that it was nearly eleven at night.  
It was a good job that John hadn't an early shift the next day at the clinic.  
'Let's put up some tinsel and lights in the bathroom!' John suddenly piped up, and Sherlock stifled a groan.  
He'd had enough, and wanted to call it a night.  
And, so, he helped John down from the countertop from where he'd been decorating the top of the cupboards and looked deeply into John's incredible brown eyes.  
He closed his eyes a fraction, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.  
John paused, licking his lower lip inconsciously.  
Sherlock knew exactly what to do to put John in the mood.  
There were a number of methods he could have employed to put a stop to the progress of the seasonal change of decor, but sex was the most attractive.  
'You're wearing that peppery cologne.' John murmured, coming in close and pinning Sherlock against the wall, unbuttoning the purple shirt that fit Sherlock's form so well.  
'Jirmana.' Sherlock said the name of the fragrance, and John nodded.  
'It suits you.' John replied, removing Sherlock's top and letting it drop to the floor.

Sherlock closed his eyes as John began tracing nonsensical designs onto his sensitive alabaster flesh, goosebumps dotting along his body and puckering his rosy nipples.  
The sensation was marvellous, and Sherlock began shivering in delight.  
He was far more physically sensitive than most would have guessed; sex could become overwhelming, and had even been agonising at times due to overly heightened senses.  
Due to that fact, in their intimate physical moments Sherlock was often in control.  
But, this time John was taking the lead and Sherlock was at his mercy.  
John looped a finger through one of Sherlock's belt loops and pulling him along behind him into the bedroom, gently pushing him down onto the bed.  
John straddled Sherlock's hips as he lay on the bed, lacing his fingers through those soft, dark curls.  
One of Sherlock's weaknesses revolved around his locks - gently run your fingers through them and he'd quickly fall asleep, carefully tug at the curls and you'd have him moaning lustily, anything more than that and he'd be on his knees and at your mercy.

John had learnt this shortly after they'd become more than just friends and flatmates, taking gleeful advantage of this knowledge.  
Sherlock let out a throaty moan as John began grinding his crotch against Sherlock's, the fabric between them becoming unbearable.  
John pulled a little on Sherlock's hair before leaning down to kiss those lusty little noises away.  
Sherlock reached between them, unbuttoning his trousers and unzipping his fly.  
John wasted no time in dipping his hands down and taking out Sherlock's firm cock, wrapping a hand around it and slowly strking up a rhythym.  
John watched as Sherlock's brow grew furrowed, beads of sweat gathering before dripping down to the bedsheet, and listened to the precious sounds of Sherlock's need.  
John undid his own fly, taking out his aching erection and began mirroring what he was doing to Sherlock until his lover was nearly over the edge.  
John got off of Sherlock, pulling off those pinstriped trousers and silk underpants before divesting himself of his own trousers and pants.  
He had Sherlock spread his legs and positioned himself at Sherlock's entrance, slick with precum and craving release desperately.  
'Hurry up!' Sherlock hissed impatiently, wiggling his hips in annoyance.  
John chuckled. 'You always have been impatient.' He half-chided.  
Sherlock reached for John's cock, pulling him until his was pressing right against the soft skin of Sherlock's tight arsehole.

John couldn't resist but pull away.  
Sherlock swore, making John laugh outright.  
'Oh, you want to play, do you?' Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow and sitting up.  
He lunged at John, slamming him into the bed.  
John giggled, having a fantastic time.  
Sherlock chuckled along, all of his frustration from earlier forgotten and his heart light and joyful.  
This was one of those perfect moments, one of those times when their love outshined everything else and consumed them completely.  
'I love you, John... So much.' Sherlock told him breathlessly, entirely aware of how much John meant to him.  
John swallowed, those heartfelt words always touching his core. 'I love you, too, Sherlock. With all my heart.'  
Sherlock climbed atop John, shuddering as he took John's thick 7 1/2 inches inside of himself.  
With one swift move, John maneuvered so that Sherlock was flat on his back.

He gave Sherlock a wicked grin as he began thrusting; each small movement bringing them closer to the brink.  
Neither of them could last much longer,and before long Sherlock came with a low 'Oh!'.  
John wasn't far behind, the tightening of Sherlock's body evoking the same reaction in himself and he spilled his hot seed inside of his lover.   
Sweaty and spent, they hadn't the strength to clean up; instead, they simply pulled the blankets over themselves, leaving the overhead light on, and cuddled up to one another to enjoy basking in the afterglow.  
It wasn't until John was nearly asleep when he'd made a realisation.  
'You clever bastard...' He intoned bemusedly. 'You were just sick of the Christmas decorating, weren't you?'  
Sherlock smiled. 'Entirely plausible.'  
John couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed the distraction. In fact, he'd been glad of it.  
He turned onto his side, leaning his forehead against Sherlock's chest, breathing in his musky aroma as they both drifted into whimsical dreams.


End file.
